Incense and PepperMentats
by Bizu Campeche
Summary: Some things just shouldn't mix. A psychedelic dream world has Julia easing on down a trail of blood, dead corn, and sparkly, glittery power armor as she meets a cast of characters with identity crises just as bad as her own. "Incense and PepperMentats" draws from both the 1939 version of "The Wizard of Oz" and the 1978 version of "The Wiz."


Howling winds rattled the wooden slats boarding the windows loose from their nails. The metal roof groaned under the tug and pull. This was by far the worst radstorm Julia had ever seen. A weightless, free-fall sensation lifted at her stomach and she gripped the balusters of the stairs in fear because she was sure she was falling, falling, falling into the unknown. The floors caved in with a roar, leaving a yawning abyss of green and black beneath her, threatening to swallow her into its void. Her eardrums popped and screamed for mercy under the intense pressure, just as her fingers were starting to slip from around the baluster. No. Not like this.

Debris fell underneath her feet. Broken floorboards, cracked bricks, her shoes...

Dogmeat? Where was he? He'd started whining at the first cracks of lightning, but she hadn't seen him since he'd run up the stairs.

Through half-shut eyes in the swirling, sickly green whirlwinds she made out the form of a broad-shouldered man halfway resembling Nate, pedaling some massive metal blimp with wings like those she'd seen on a sketch of DaVinci's flying machine. He turned to look at her and nodded respectfully at her before pedaling away into the vortex with his zeppelin contraption.

Julia peered up. The roof was flapping on and off like a loose snap-on cap, and all she saw were green and gray skies. She was floating. She was in the air and she hated it. Even if it killed her, she needed to come down, down into the ground. She squeezed her eyes shut and, with what was left of her dwindling stamina, tried to hook her legs around the balustrade. To no use.

There went her shoe. Down into the void. Gone. Like she was about to be.

Her biceps protested, held over her head too long to get proper circulation, holding on too long, being tugged too far. Miniature fractures in muscle tissue, tearing, tearing, ripping flesh, stretched too far, stretched too thin and she was slipping, slipping away. Gone. Going into the void. And no one to save her.

It burned like acid all over her body, eating at the thin layer of skin of her lips, the sensitive wateriness of her cornea, under the tender flesh beneath her nails. She snarled in a scream but it slid down her throat all bitter and invasive and began tearing at her from the inside out until she was nothing. She was sure she was nothing. She would die here and she was nothing. Her nails clawed at the wind for purchase in vain, and it felt like the slime on meat left out for too long. It was wrapping around her in its stench, pressing against her ribs until she could only exhale, give and give and give.

If it would only kill her already. Oh, if it would only be done with her and let her go into oblivion.

A violent crash and darkness.

Silence.

The emptiness of oblivion.

But oblivion wasn't supposed to fucking hurt so much, goddammit!

Julia shoved aside the broken beams and linoleum panels on her body, wincing at the lightning-hot pain shooting up her ankle. Was it broken? Steeling herself for another jolt of pain, she willed her toes to wiggle. Nothing. Oh, no. She couldn't move her toes. Oh, fuck. It was broken, wasn't it? Just what she needed: to fly away in some fucking tornado and die from exposure because she couldn't move because her motherfucking ankle was fucking broken and Oh, my God, she was going to die, wasn't she? Frantic, she ripped away the debris covering her leg.

Only to find that her foot was covered in various flowers, pink and white and red and darker red. Shaky fingers brushed against the silky petals, then the stems and—fuck, okay, the stems hurt. Attached, rooted to her flesh, their hair-like systems pushing just below her skin. Julia would have screamed if she had any air left in her lungs.

There was a voice outside.

"Yeah! Take that, bitch!"

Why did that sound so familiar? And who was he calling a bitch?

Dragging her beautifully injured foot behind her, she clawed her way through the broken glass and splintered wood, noticing little flowers begin to bud and bloom whenever the flesh on her hands split open on sharp pieces.

"Holy shit, lady! Are you okay?"

A pair of legs in military green pants stood outside the window. When the figure leaned over, she saw the emaciated face of a wiry young man with bright blue eyes, cheeks covered in dirt, teeth as jagged as the shattered glass she sat on. She wasn't about to refuse help getting out of this death trap, so she grabbed his hands when he offered them and he pulled, pulled, pulled until her body slipped free from the broken house, and toppled them both over.

Where'd he go?

A pair of arms slapped at her sides in a panic. Julia hoisted herself up and the man beneath her gasped for air.

"Oh, my God. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

The green cap on his head had fallen off in the struggle, and he sat up, coughing. Poor guy. He'd saved her life and she'd repaid him by suffocating the shit out of him. Great job there, Julia.

"I'm fine," he wheezed as the color ran back into his cheeks. His eyes landed on the wreckage behind her and the smile returned to his broken lips. "Seriously. Couldn't be better. We've been trying to get rid of that fucker for _years."_

She glanced behind her shoulders. What fucker? The house? She wasn't even sure whose house that was. Not much of a house anymore. It shifted with a rumble, and then it collapsed on itself with a roar and a cloud of dust. Nope. Not anymore.

Oh, no. Dogmeat.

Julia got to her knees, trying to crawl toward the house, the panic running through her veins like an ice floe. Please, no. Not Dogmeat.

"Whoa, hold on there!"

"My dog! My dog is in there!" she wailed, tossing pieces of wood and siding and fuzzy insulation as if that would get her anywhere. The young man ambled toward her and soon joined her in the search. Please let him be okay. Please let him be safe.

A wicked laugh caught her attention. "Check this out, mungo!" Mungo? He was lifting an impossibly heavy beam and pointing at what looked like the leg of a metal suit, glittering in gold under the glare of sunlight. "Ding-dong, the bitch is dead!" he laughed. "What are you looking at? Put it on!"

How was this supposed to help her find Dogmeat?

She supposed this was the so-called bitch he'd been talking about.

"Is it true?" asked another voice. A man with skin like hers, dressed in a glowing bronze duster. How was he glowing like that? Radioactivity? No, too sparkly to be radioactive. Glitter, maybe. Or maybe she was dead and this was some kind of weird afterlife she didn't believe in. "Is Kells dead?"

"Come see for yourself."

The sparkly man helped the dirty one in popping off the armored leg. The human leg beneath bubbled and withered and melted away into the ground with a steaming sizzle. New blossoms popped up one by one, blooming bright and magical and cruel in the remains of the deceased's agony.

"She says her dog is in here or something. Mind giving me a hand?"

He nodded. "I'm going to need you to stand first, ma'am. Can you do that?"

Julia frowned at her injured ankle, the red and white flowers wrapping around her shin like vines. "I don't know."

"Mayor, help me stand her up."

Before she knew it, she was upright, thighs and back leaning against some of the broken wood.

Glitter Cowboy aimed his rifle at her and she blanched. "What the fuck?"

"Just stand still, ma'am. This'll be quick." Before she could protest, a ray of hot energy bolted through her nerves, not quite painful, though not pleasurable either. Just odd and uncomfortable like getting too close to an electrical switch, or that time she'd licked a battery on a dare as a child.

Her legs felt heavy and warm, wrapped tightly in something. Whatever the dead person beneath the house had been wearing was now on her legs. Uncomfortable, but it wasn't as bad as walking on a busted ankle.

"There. Now you can help us look for your dog."

What in the fresh hell?

Ultimately, it didn't matter. Now that she was free to walk and stand, she could focus on saving Dogmeat. If he was even still alive. Her fingers dug and dug and dug, desperate to uncover her canine friend. Please, oh, please let him be alive.

The crash of lightning made the earth beneath her shake.

"What have you done?!"

More people. Great.

Fuck them. Dogmeat was most important right now.

"Was this you, Preston?" the angry male voice demanded.

The sparkly cowboy with the magic musket stood up. "Not a chance, Maxson. Mayor MacCready here found this house. Lancer Captain Kells was an unfortunate casualty."

MacCready snorted but didn't turn away from working. "I wouldn't say _unfortunate."_

Maxson sounded furious, asking question after question, but Julia couldn't be bothered to pay attention to his squawking. Dogmeat could be bleeding to death, crying out for her help and she wouldn't be able to hear it because this idiot wouldn't shut up for two seconds.

"Is that... a T-60 power armor suit leg?" Maxson asked. "A _Brotherhood-_issue T-60 power armor suit leg? On a _civilian?"_

MacCready stood up. "It isn't like Kells needs it anymore. He, uh... _caved_ under all the pressure." And then he laughed at his own joke. Idiot.

There was a loud zap encasing the splintered rubble and the house disintegrated into ashes, fleeing in the sweep of the wind. Nothing left but Kells' glittery power armor. Not even a body. And Dogmeat? Where was he? Julia dropped to her knees, fingers combing through the ashes.

"You _killed_ him," she mumbled. The hope of finding her only friend, gone. She wouldn't even get the satisfaction of burying him. "You killed him!"

"An eye for an eye," he responded. Maxson was tall and broad, a bull of a man with hands that could easily crush her throat. His face was split in a scar traversing part of his face and framed in a thick, black beard. His eyes were blue, but unlike MacCready's, it was the lack of pigment that made them so striking. Like staring into an early-morning winter sky. Empty and cold. Everything about him screamed _menace._

Another surge of electricity and the rest of her body was wrapped in the same heavy material. An entire suit of armor, just for her.

And Maxson? His jacket was pretty cool, but he was defenseless now. His teeth flashed in a snarl.

"You will pay your dues to the Brotherhood, woman. I'll make sure of it."

Lightning flashed again and he was gone.

"Yeah!" MacCready threw a punch in the air. "You _better_ run, bitch!"

"You're not helping," Preston sighed. He tilted his head at her with an apologetic frown. "I'm sorry, Ms...?"

"Julia."

"Oolia?" MacCready asked.

"Julia."

"Hhhulia," Preston tried, with extra phlegm.

She sighed. Americans. "Vidal."

"Ms. Vidal. I apologize for not being able to find your dog. But I can point you in the direction of someone who can, on two conditions."

Wait, seriously? She was stuck in the midst of bereavement and he was giving her conditions? What in the actual fuck?

"One, don't take this armor off," he said, polishing the dried blood off the surface with his sleeve. "For any reason. It's what's keeping you upright and safe. Understand?"

Well, okay. That made sense, she supposed. "What's the second?"

His fingers adjusted the armored helmet, the latches snapping on tightly. "There are a few scattered settlers around that might need help. You help them and they're guaranteed to help you."

"What kind of help are we talking here?"

Preston narrowed his eyes as if she had asked him about quasars or something.

"If I knew, I'd help them myself."

Oh. My. God.

"Anyway, Diamond City is where you want to go. There's a man there. Detective Nick Valentine. He needs all the help he can get. But he'll help you out in exchange."

For Dogmeat. This was for Dogmeat. She took a deep, deep breath chanting that in her mind. For Dogmeat.

"Diamond City? Did you say Diamond City?" Where was this feminine voice coming from? She glanced over at MacCready and—whoa, why did he only come up to her shoulder?—found him staring down at a dark-haired woman's head. On a small dog's body.

"Pipe down, Piper," he said. "She's trying to look for her dog."

"Can it, MacCready! I gotta get home to Nat." The dog-lady hopped on all four paws like a twitchy Chihuahua. Or a Yorkie. Julia didn't know much about dog breeds other than the mange-laden mutts roaming the streets. "Please, lady? I'll show ya the way and everything. I just need some help getting through all the flying Brotherhood monkeys."

Okay. Now she knew none of this was real. What was she supposed to do? Click her heels together? Kind of hard to do in this bulky ass suit.

Piper was looking up expectantly at her with huge hazel eyes.

"Um, yeah. Sure. Okay. Where do we start?"

"One more thing," Preston announced. Because of course there was. He wrapped some sort of device onto the arm of the suit. "I marked the settler's locations on your map."

"And if you press the red button, you can blow shit up with a laser," MacCready added. _"Big boom."_

"And it plays tunes on the radio!" Piper added.

"Wait, wait, how do you know that?" Julia asked.

MacCready and Piper exchanged a confused glance, just as dumbfounded as she was, and then he shrugged.

"I need to go," Preston said. "I'll see you when you're ready to head back home, General Vidal."

Wait. General? There was a trill of glass chimes and Preston disappeared with a whistle and a poof of glitter. What. The. Fuck.

"Aw, shit. It took me weeks to get this stupid shit off the ground last time," MacCready complained. "I'm telling you, Garvey's gotta find a better way to de-materialize."

"I know," Piper said. "There's still glitter on my couch from when he last came over. And that was three months ago. Someone's really gotta talk to him about it."

MacCready blew into a whistle and the giant toy soldiers planted in the ground like saplings materialized into children. Some sprung from the ground like toadstool mushrooms, and still, others peeled themselves from the colorful graffiti walls. He wrapped his arms around Julia's waist and buried his face where her soft stomach laid under the metal casing. When he looked back up at her, she saw the face of a little boy far too small for his age, smeared with dirt and grease, smiling up at her with the twinkle of mischief in his bright blue eyes. He gave her a gap-toothed grin before starting toward the other kids.

"Alright, listen up!" said the kid. "I want all this shit off the ground. I swear to God if I even see a speck of glitter on my boots I'll make you eat it for breakfast. That means you, Princess!"


End file.
